


That Which Lurks in the Shadows

by Jess_B_Fossil



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Also X -files?, Also this is now a comedy, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, But she still loves Sylvain, Cop/Detective... kind of?, Did I mention it's also a Spaghetti Western?, Eventual Smut, FBI (Fodlan Bureau of Investigations), Hunter!Sylvain, I absolutely built this storyline around the use of that acronym, Ingrid is a mess, M/M, Mercedes is an A+ wingman, Not Canon Compliant, Spaghetti Western, Sylvix Secret Santa (Fire Emblem), Vampire AU, Vampire Hunter, Vampire!Felix, Vampire!Mercedes, Winter is... has come?, cause it is, slow-burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:13:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21993502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jess_B_Fossil/pseuds/Jess_B_Fossil
Summary: It's not that Sylvain wanted to be a Hunter, it's just what the Gautier Family has done since the fall of the Holy Kingdom. Despite being beloved children of the Adrestrian Empire, his lands have been left to rot, falling victim to lawlessness and criminal wiles. When The Boar resurfaces after centuries, ravaging the Wyldes once more, he's assigned to go eliminate the threat. What's he to do when he finds out his assigned partner is a vampire-- the very thing that he's sworn to hunt down? Sylvix AU.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 6
Kudos: 73





	1. Principium

**Author's Note:**

> So when I signed up for the Sylvix Discord Server Secret Santa event, I was incredibly excited for the opportunity to write something for someone in this amazing group of people. And then I drew [Lumi's](https://twitter.com/lumilotte?lang=en). name and freaked out because I'm a huge fan her artwork. 
> 
> The prompts that I was given were many and none of them I'd ever written before. For some crazy reason I decided to combine the Vampire/Hunter and Cop/Detective Prompts, while at the same time throwing in elements of the X-Files. But then it wound up more like a spaghetti western and as I was looking at my outline, I had to wonder, "Wtf am I doing, and is this going to work?"
> 
> Well, people responded positively to the idea, so I guess so. 
> 
> While this was supposed to be finished by Christmas, I slipped and fell, breaking part of my hand and wasn't able to complete the entire story as I wished. HOWEVER, it's about half done at this point, and I'm proud that I've managed to bust out that much despite my injury. 
> 
> Thank you to Lumi for the amazing prompt ideas, and letting me roll with them. I've had so much fun writing this and I can't wait for it to be completed.

**_Principium_ **

“Once upon a time,” his father starts with one quiet evening, “it was our divine duty to protect our home from the barbarians of Sreng. Fraldarius and Itha would catch whatever dregs came from the south, and Gautier was the last line of defense against the Wyldes.”

Before the Wyldes began to stretch south of course, encompassing what used to be the north end of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. It’s something that his father doesn’t talk about, no matter how much it rules their lives.

Sylvain blinks at his father before looking back to the horizon. The sun settles low across the line, lighting up the frigid icescape with hues of orange and red. It’s hard to imagine his homeland as anything other than what he knew it as. Sreng isn’t known for its hospitable nature, but neither is Gautier in the grand scheme of things. 

Despite being  _ a precious child of the Empire _ , his homeland fell victim to the lawlessness of the Wyldes, as Sreng swept south and bad folk north. It’s fallen into lawlessness ever since the Monarchy fell and while Adrestia considers their people  _ beloved friends _ , they’ve all but left them to rot because Sylvain and his people aren’t worth the effort. Sreng wasn’t so much an ally, as it was a necessary companion. With tenuous peace and trade in place, people don’t go entirely hungry. 

“Odd,” Sylvain says back, “to think that we were once a family of knights.” He couldn’t imagine it really, him as a knight. Sylvain isn’t the type of man to be bound by endless rules and chivalry. 

“Some of us were,” his father confirms, and then his mouth twists into a wry smile. “And some of us weren’t. When the Holy Kingdom fell, the need for knighthood went with it. And therefore--”

“ _ I know _ ,” Sylvain insists, his lips tugging into a frown. “Trust me, I know.” He’s known his entire life, about the expectations of him, his duties, his entire  _ purpose of being _ . 

The Margrave frowns at him, lips tugging into an ugly expression. It rubs Sylvain the wrong way. “You don’t look very excited,” he observes.

What is there to be excited about? Sylvain  _ wants _ to tell him that there’s nothing appealing about being a  _ true Gautier _ , marrying well and popping out as many huntlings as possible. In the grand scheme of things, maybe knighthood isn’t such a bad idea in comparison to the alternative. Instead, he says, “Nervous, I suppose.” There isn’t any use in picking a fight that he won’t win.

With that sentiment, his father claps a hand against his back, his disposition changing with a hearty laugh. It sounds half genuine and for a moment the man seems almost human. “Ah yes, the first hunt is always nerve wracking.”

“Yeah,” Sylvain imparts with a sigh, frown falling across his face. “That’s it.” His words are tired and weary already, and his life hasn’t even started.

His father doesn’t seem to notice. 

* * *

Years of hunts and adventures, and Sylvain is tiring of his monotonous life. But at the same time,  _ knighthood _ seems even  _ more _ boring in comparison to tracking down creatures of the night. Perhaps it’s a good thing that knights were a thing of the past.

“Good nab,” Ingrid tells him with a low whistle, eyeing the body that he’s dragging along.

Sylvain puts on a charming smile, but can’t hide his grunt as he hefts the vampire across his shoulder. It was a particularly nasty hunt, actually, but at least the children of Itha were safe for the moment. The ones that feed from kids were in Sylvain’s opinion, not fit for life. Or the undead, he supposes. Ingrid follows him to the Kiln, where he drops the creature off for proper disposal. 

It’s then that she gets a proper look at him, her expression pulling into fury as she spots the long slice along his neck and collarbone, and the red and pink splotching across his shirt. “Sylvain--”

“I’m fine,” he insists, but she’s already stepped closer, taking his chin into her hand as her other pulls aside his collar. She presses against the inflamed skin with little care and Sylvain hisses.

“It’s already showing signs of infection!” she snaps, and Sylvain sighs. After a well placed glare, she lets go of him reluctantly. “How old is this injury?”

At  _ least _ three days, not that she needs to know that. “Old enough to be annoying, but not deadly.” At least he put salve on it. Once, like a two days ago. He thinks at least. It’s hard to keep track when he’s on the road, and injuries like this are a dime a dozen. “Truly Ingrid, I’m fine.” She tuts disapprovingly, but says nothing else. Sylvain smiles with carefully practiced charm-- he’s won this round, a small victory. “What are you even doing here?” he finally asks, hooking his arm through hers as he begins to lead her away. “Weren’t you do back in Galatea two days ago?”

She huffs at that, cheeks puffing as they dust pink with annoyance. “I’m avoiding Father, of course. I swear to you, still trying to marry me off in this day and age--” But then she catches Sylvain’s cringe and pauses. “Sylvain, I’m sorry--”

“Nah,” he shrugs it off. And really, it’s okay. At least they have solidarity in matters as such. Life feels a little less stiff and demanding, when you aren’t the only one expected to  _ behave like a proper noble. _ It’s a load of shit, Sylvain thinks, because his noble bloodline hasn’t been anything since the Kingdom fell. Same for Ingrid. “It’s something that we share between us, aside from our undying love for each other of course.” 

Ingrid’s mouth spreads into a smile, amused by his kind words and good natured joke. But… Sylvain is well attuned to the moods of Ingrid and he knows he’s not off the hook yet. 

“Are you still planning on leaving?” she asks him as they round a corner together. And there it is, her nosy nature and need to offer unwanted advice. Sylvain in particular is a frequent victim, much to his aggravation. Ingrid tells him it’s because she  _ cares _ , but he’s not sure why she bothers. It’s not as if he actually  _ listens _ to her.

“I… don’t know,” he admits, truthfully, rubbing at the back of his head. They pause on the northern fortress wall of Castle Gautier, but the guards are long gone and they have no infantry left, so there aren’t any prying ears. He lets out a long sigh before saying, “With Miklan gone, my father has redoubled his efforts. He’s bearing down  _ hard _ .”

“And you’d rather just keep hunting.”

“I’d rather be  _ anywhere _ other than here,” he corrects. He waves a hand towards her. “But if I leave, who will keep an eye out for you?”

The smile that falls across her face is a sad thing that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and it’s _precisely_ the reason that Sylvain has stuck around for as long as he has. Well, that and hunting vampires, as his family line dictates. It turns out that he quite likes the task, even if it’s been monotonous as of late.

“Sylvain, please don’t stay here for my sake,” Ingrid requests quietly. Heavens above, he  _ hates _ that expression on her face.

He reaches out, smoothing a bang behind her ear. There’s nothing romantic about it, just a familial touch between close friends. They’re like siblings, he and Ingrid, and they depend on each other to remain sane in such a bitter and cruel world. “Don’t say that,” he says fondly. “You’re my best girl, Ingrid. You’ve always been.”

Her expression shifts slightly, this smile a little more warm and real. “Sylvain--”

“Sylvain!” 

They both pause and turn to look towards the voice, and Sylvain’s expression darkens at the sight of his father. The man levels Ingrid with a raised brow and unimpressed glance once standing beside them. “Miss Galatea,” he greets politely, but there’s no love there.

It isn’t a secret that Ingrid is viewed as  _ less _ , not that Sylvain is planning on courting her. But House Galatea has suffered more damage than most, and his father isn’t willing to overlook any infraction-- even if she isn’t at fault. Ingrid’s only flaw is that she inherited a cold and dead land that Sylvain isn’t sure can be rescued.

But Ingrid,  _ bless this woman _ , can read the mood of a room quite well. “I’ll see you later Sylvain,” she says, leaning forward for a gentle half hug, half tug at his shirt. A silent reminder to be  _ careful _ at least, and a very Ingrid thing to do. She’s gone before he can properly react. 

“I have no idea why you entertain that girl,” the Margrave says with a disappointed huff. “She’s  _ nothing _ .” 

It’s hard not to remind his father that they aren’t much more, but he knows when to pick a fight and it isn’t the right moment. “She’s my friend,” Sylvain replies instead, his gaze narrowing at the Margrave. “And her father  _ used _ to be yours.”

“Until he outlived his usefulness.” There’s little feeling in the comment and Sylvain is almost disturbed by the lack of care.  _ Almost _ . But he knows his father too well. The Margrave shuffles around before handing him a rolled piece of parchment. “Your new assignment,” he says simply. 

“Already,” Sylvain grouses with a sigh. So much for a set of clean clothes, a nice bath and a soft bed. 

“You’re our best and brightest.” And the only Hunter left of the Gautiers, Sylvain thinks, now that his father was properly retired. “This one isn’t as dangerous as the last, but he’s a nuisance all the same.”

_ Are you still planning on leaving? _ Ingrid had asked him not fifteen minutes before. It’s been an attractive thought more and more as of late, and with his father breathing down his neck every waking moment-- 

Sylvain rolls the parchment back up before tucking it into a pocket. “I’ll set off tomorrow,” he says. He  _ will _ get the rest he deserves, whether his father thought it was needed or not. But the Margrave didn’t put up a fight, surprising Sylvain instead with a hearty clap on the back before he left him be.

In the morning, he sees Ingrid off-- much to the displeasure of the household-- before preparing for the next hunt. They share kind words and Sylvain hugs her tightly to him, not wanting to let go. Ingrid is a rock. He’s her rock as well, but he’s slowly crumbling with time and he’s not sure how much longer he can stand the weathering. 

When he pulls back, she looks at him with a sad smile and says those fated words once more-- the ones that put that sad look on her face that he hates. 

_ Don’t stay here for my sake _ . 

For the first time, Sylvain listens. He rubs at her arms gently, before pressing a kiss to her temple and bidding her farewell. 

He’s tired of not living his own life, so he finally  _ listens _ to Ingrid and takes her advice. He tells his father to go fuck himself, before disappearing into the night without a trace.

  
  



	2. Unus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never written vampires before, so here we gooooo.

**_Unus_ **

_ Five Years Later _

* * *

Sylvain cocks his head to the side, unsure if he’d actually heard the woman correctly. “Petra, dearling--”

“That’s  _ Commander _ , to you,” she cuts in unsuccessfully. 

Sylvain can practically  _ hear _ her eyes roll as he talks right over her. “--I must not have heard you correctly. You said--”

“Yes, Galatea.” She sighs when she catches sight of Sylvain’s wince, but it’s not really in annoyance or anger. Petra’s tired, just like everyone else that works out of this blasted office. “Sylvain, I have never asked because I respect your privacy, but I need to know if traveling there will cause an issue.”

With that, it’s Sylvain’s turn to sigh. “It’s not Galatea itself,” he admits, “But rather the Countess that I’m concerned about.” It’s not that he and Ingrid are on bad terms or anything, but there’s a little bit of awkwardness between them. They’ve exchanged letters over the years, but she’s  _ never quite _ forgiven him for not giving her a proper goodbye. Even if she was the one that urged him to leave.

And honestly, he doesn’t blame her. Despite years of kind words that people have used to describe him, he’s not exactly a  _ good guy _ . He’s definitely the philandering rogue that Ingrid used to accuse him of, through and through.

Petra blinks back at him and he can tell from the way that her lips tug into a slight frown that she doesn’t believe him. “From my correspondence with her, she seems rather fond of you.”

“Oh, you misunderstand me Commander,” Sylvain replies with a smile. “Ingrid’s always been my best girl.” 

There’s a snort from the side and they both look towards Caspar. “Oh don’t mind  _ me,” _ he says, waving them off energetically, “It just sounded like you actually meant it.”

Sylvain frowns at that. He’s not a man without feelings. “I  _ did.” _ Caspar raises an eyebrow in response, but doesn’t say anything else. 

Petra shuffles through the papers stacked on her desk. “If everything is in order, then I will brief you on your assignment.” Petra isn’t always easy to read, but he can hear the finality in her tone and he knows that he’s lost this battle. As a former Princess of Brigid, she’s mastered the art of being well spoken, but firm. 

Sylvain’s never held love for the Empire and it’s a damn shame that her homeland was so easily conquered. 

“As you know, there have been reports from the north of a beast ravaging the Wyldes.” 

Of course he knew that-- everyone knew that. It appeared out of nowhere, has killed numerous officers and civilians, and disappears before anything can be done about it. It’s been a nightmare for months and everyone is run ragged, barely sleeping as a result. They’ve sent so many officers after it, that Sylvain singlehandedly picks up the slack there in the south.

“It is a creature of an era gone past,” she continues on, flipping through various reports. She sighs as she scans the documents. “Well reported centuries ago before it disappeared entirely. And now it seems to be back.”

“And I’m going to be the one to hunt it,” Sylvain surmises, not at all surprised. He’s been expecting it for awhile, actually.

Petra nods. “You are one of our best officers, Sylvain, and I am wary to send you because of the risk of losing you.” She pauses, rubbing at her temple. “But you have a history with…  _ oddities _ and dispatching them. I think we have come to the point where we must be more proactive.”

Sylvain is quiet in his chair, legs crossed and fingers tapping against his knee. It’s been five years since he’s become an officer in the Fodlan Bureau of Investigation and he knows an order from higher up when he hears one. 

“Alright then,” he finally sighs. “I’ll get to packing and stop by Linhardt’s lab to stock up--”

“There is one other thing,” Petra interrupts and Sylvain sits back in his chair, waiting. She looks almost apprehensive which in turn makes  _ him _ apprehensive, and oh  _ Empire above _ what is she about to tell him--

“You’ve been assigned a partner.”

Sylvain bursts into laughter; he honestly can’t help it. It’s his knee-jerk reaction to the unbelievable.  _ “What? _ Commander, you know that I work alone.” He didn’t always, but after failed partner after failed partner, they finally gave up on assigning him one. He’s never been good at playing teams.

“I have no choice in the matter,” Petra tells him. “This command comes from  _ my _ boss. Your partner isn’t an officer, but rather…  _ contracted _ into service. He owes the Bureau a favor and the Empire is calling it in. He’ll meet with you once you arrive in Galatea.” 

Sylvain frowns. “And what is this man like?” He doesn’t like unpredictability. 

It’s Caspar the speaks up this time. “Not a clue, buddy. All I’ve heard is that he’s… uh…  _ prickly _ .” 

“Prickly,” Sylvain repeats. He already knows that this is a mistake; he can practically sense that he’s  _ really _ going to regret this. Too bad he doesn’t have a choice.

Petra must see the thoughts turning in his head because her next words are a carefully placed warning. “I will remind you, Sylvain, that while there is no pleasure in an assignment like this, we  _ do _ have a duty to serve the Empire in every capacity that we have.” 

He hates the Empire and their empty words of  _ friendship _ and  _ loyalty _ . He grew up pressed underneath their thumbs, and even then, they  _ never  _ once lifted a finger to help them. The Wyldes are a dangerous and lawless place, and the people there slowly wither away into nothing. Sylvain is well aware that Petra knows that; she understands perhaps better than anyone. 

The Empire had extended friendship to Brigid and when they weren’t interested, they were  _ conquered _ instead. Petra is a living example of what happens to those who don’t abide by the empty  _ loyalty  _ extended by the Empire.

“Yeah,” Sylvain tells her, his voice quiet. “Yeah, I hear you.” Then he slaps a smile on his face, his lips twisting into the perfected facade he’s used for years. Petra sees right through it though, she’s always seen right through him. Her smile back is just as empty. “Now then, I need to get ready, yeah? Linhardt won’t like having to make a restock of magic bullets overnight.”

Petra regards him fondly and Sylvain leaves her office with flourish. 

* * *

He hasn’t been to the Galatea Manor since he was a child, but he  _ knows _ for a fact that it’s never looked like this. 

A thin, bedraggled looking boy leads Horse away, while another thin and frail woman brings him inside. The home is still in one piece and it’s not about to fall over, but he sees the cracks in the plaster walls and the threadbare tapestries. The rugs are so worn with age that there are  _ balding _ sections, and he almost feels bad stepping over them. Furniture is lacking and plain and there’s a distinct lack of gold and jeweled finery. 

Sylvain frowns at the worn estate, immediately regretting how little he’s corresponded with Ingrid. She’s been worse off than he’d imagined.

Ingrid greets him wearing a fine looking wine-colored dress and he knows immediately that something is off. Ingrid doesn’t wear dresses, he thinks as she hugs him. Ingrid likes to wear pants and armor, and sturdy boots. When she pulls back, he holds her by the shoulders, giving her a careful once over. Her hair is cut short, part of it braided and while the bows make it cute, it’s not really her either. 

Sylvain brushes a bang behind her ear and says, “Look at you. Years of trying to get you into a dress and here you are greeting me in one of your own accord.” He means it in jest, but there’s something in the way that her lips tighten at the jab. 

“And look at you,” she replies tartly, reaching up to yank at his hair. “You look like a homeless man. Have they no barbers where you live?” 

“Ingrid--  _ Ow!” _ Ingrid’s flicked her fingers at his forehead. “What’s that for?”

She huffs. “Honestly Sylvain, you couldn’t bother with a goodbye?” Sylvain winces-- of  _ course _ she’s still hung up about that. Let it be known that Ingrid will happily hold a grudge for the rest of her life, if she felt it just. “If I were right in my mind, I’d have turned you away at the door.”

“Since when have you ever been right in your mind?” Sylvain asks, unable to resist the tease. 

To his surprise, Ingrid takes it in stride, pulling back fully and smoothing out the crinkles in her skirts. “You know, you must be right, otherwise why in the Empire's name would I bother to be your friend?” 

Well, she’s turned this around rather quickly, hasn’t she? Sylvain has the decency to at least look sheepish, but then she reaches out, her fingers curling around his forearm. “All jesting aside, it is good to see you,” she admits warmly. 

Sylvain’s expression softens at that. “Yeah, Ingrid, it is. You’ve always been my best girl.” 

“So irritating,” she chides, but her gaze turns soft and affectionate. “So useless,” she continues. “Utterly idiotic.”

They were words that would have sounded cruel to anyone else, but to Sylvain, they were nothing but a comfort. Maybe Ingrid hasn’t changed as much as he thought. 

* * *

“And  _ that’s _ how I wound up here, on this miserable mission.” Sylvain pokes at a potato with his fork. Dinner is tasty, but sparse. He’s always known that Galatea was poorly suited for crops, but for the spread to be so thin was honestly… concerning. 

But Ingrid pays it no mind, seemingly used to it, and Sylvain wonders if this has always been the case. She always visited him in the past, not the other way around-- aside from once. Ingrid is dressed in a different dress than before, this one complimentary to her light complexion in its pale seafoam green color. And really, she looks nice-- she looks absolutely lovely-- but it’s like his skin is crawling at the sight seeing her so  _ done up _ . 

He supposes that a Countess has to at least  _ look _ the part, no matter how jarring it is. 

“It must be so terrible,” she says to him after taking a bite, “to be so good at something that they actually  _ want _ to make use of you. But then again, the idea of hiring you for anything is laughable. Since when were you reliable?” Her words hit him so hard that he nearly has whiplash. 

“Now Ingrid--”

“But what should I even expect?” she grouses, talking right over him. He grips his fork and knife tightly, snapping his mouth shut. It’s probably easier to just let her finish before he says something that he might regret. “You finally make the  _ correct _ decision to leave, and for what? The Empire? Really Sylvain, of all the things that you could have done and you chose  _ that _ .” She angrily stabs at a limp vegetable before stuffing it into her mouth. 

“They don’t deserve you,” Ingrid continues, talking around her food. Sylvain refrains from calling out her bad manners. “I mean the Empire, of course. They don’t  _ deserve _ what you bring to the table, after everything they’ve done.  _ Vampires _ , Sylvain. You’re the  _ best _ Hunter from the Wyldes and then you go and become their  _ lapdog _ . I’m honestly surprised at you--”

“That’s  _ enough,”  _ Sylvain finally snaps. Ingrid pauses in her monologue, blinking back at him. “I would have thought you’d  _ know _ better, Ingrid. I’d never willingly work for them, but a man has to eat and what kind of skills do I have?” He sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “You said it yourself-- I’m the best damn Hunter there is up here. At least this way I can  _ protect _ people from  _ them _ .” She doesn’t need a translator to know that he means the Empire itself. 

Ingrid is quiet for a long moment, her lips pulled into a tight frown. “And what of the people  _ here _ , Sylvain? Have you forgotten about us?” 

Sylvain wants to tell her of course not, but the words refuse to come. Instead he says, “I understand your anger, Ingrid--”

“I’m not angry, you dolt.” Her voice is thin and tired. “I’m disappointed.” And honestly, that’s worse than her being angry, because he’s never wanted to be seen as anything  _ less than _ in her eyes. When he finally looks at her, he sees the weary circles under her eyes and the way that she kneads her temple. 

“It wasn’t easy to leave, Ingrid,” he finally says. “And it was harder to decide to work for them. Trust me when I say that the  _ last _ thing that I want to be is an officer for the FBI. But I can’t be the disgraced heir of the Gautier fortune down South, so instead I have to be what I am  _ best _ at.”

“Do you even  _ hunt _ vampires anymore?” She doesn’t ask it to pick a fight, she seems genuinely interested.

Sylvain sighs. With the Adrestian royal family vampires themselves, it’s  _ technically _ frowned upon to do such a thing, even if the creatures plague the lands. Galatea and Gautier are considered part of the  _ Wyldes _ though, the lawless part of the land that was barely regulated. The Empire doesn’t care much about what they do up here, but further south, there are  _ rules _ that have to be followed. Even when it comes to vampires who’ve lost themselves and rampage.

“It isn’t easy, but I make do. The entire reason I became an officer is because it allowed me a license to hunt.” He drops his eating utensils, looking at Ingrid seriously. “I’ve regretted it a lot Ingrid, but at least I’m not  _ home _ , and the moment I remember that, it makes my choice seem all the better.” 

“Oh Sylvain,” Ingrid says quietly, “You should never have been forced to make such a decision.”

“And  _ you _ shouldn’t have to sell everything you own, just to take care of your people,” he replies. Ingrid hasn’t told him much, but judging by the slight tremble of her mouth, he’d hit the mark square on. “Fat lot the Empire’s done for us.”

Ingrid laughs. It’s small and pitiful, but it’s a laugh nonetheless. He’s not sure if it’s at him, or the Empire, or the incredulity of everything, but he joins in. At first he’d been hesitant to come back up here, but seeing Ingrid has been worth it, even if it’s put him at the end of her undeserved sniping. He’s  _ lonely _ and he’s missed her, and the sentiment is clearly returned. 

It doesn’t take much looking around to see that she’s done the best that she can after being named the Countess of a dead and dying land. But that’s just how things are this far North, at the end of the world. 

* * *

It’s a common occurrence that Sylvain doesn’t sleep well and there’s something about the Galatea Estate that is unsettling. So instead of laying in a bed too short for him and staring up at the ceiling all night, he’s taken to scouting in the Wyldes around the manor. It won’t hurt to be  _ productive _ .

He knows it’s not a good idea to go alone, but his apparent partner hasn’t bothered to show yet. Ingrid was surprised, having expected him for dinner at least, but he was a no-show and his place setting had remained empty with wasted food. Sylvain figures that he’ll be fine. He’s hunted alone for so long that this isn’t likely to be much different. 

It’s beyond cold outside. Sylvain pulls his collar closer, hunkering into the well worn fur. Even with the ermine lined cloak and gloves, he’s so frigid that he can barely feel his fingertips. It’s warmer to the south and he hates how he’s not used to it anymore. The moon is full and bright above him, casting an eerie glow across the frozen landscape. Galatea isn’t much different than Gautier, he supposes. It’s all sparse and barren trees, ill-looking shrubbery and ground so hard that you can barely get a shovel in it. 

Sylvain is a man of the North and the cold runs through his veins, so he presses on, even if his toes are numb through. 

He’s hunted in the Wyldes his entire life, so it comes second nature to him. There’s nothing more than a couple of caribou tracks, so he picks the left one, pressing westward. There’s a system to it, really-- follow the trail, keep quiet and move onward. When the tracks end, head back and follow another line. It’s soothing, the routine of it, familiar even. 

He misses that predictability, maybe. 

Sylvain follows a pattern-- until he doesn’t. He’s hours into the deep night and he has no idea what he’s looking at. He drops to his knees, running his hand along the ground. It’s the largest track he’s ever seen at well over a foot long and he’s not quite sure what it belongs to. It’s not a shape familiar to him.

He frowns. It wasn’t that he didn’t  _ believe _ that there was something to hunt up here, but he certainly hadn’t thought it an animal. Neither had the FBI; it’s why they’d sent him in the end all of things-- like he, they assumed it to be a rogue vampire that’s lost its sense of being. But this… He sighs, running a gloved finger along the outer ridge of the foot print. 

Well, it didn’t belong to a fucking elk, that’s for sure. 

Before Sylvain can ponder it any longer, a twig snaps behind him. His hand immediately goes to the gun at his waist. He’d been right earlier-- Linhardt had certainly  _ not _ liked being woken up for fresh batches of magic bullets, but  _ Empire above _ , Sylvain is happy he forced the issue. He unclips the holster, easing the gun out with a well practiced move, but he’s knocked to the ground before he can even properly aim it. 

The Beast is huge, far larger than him, and he can’t get a good look at it. He drops his gun, moving to grab at it and roll them over, but it’s no use. The monster has a solid grip, hanging over Sylvain with dripping saliva. Sylvain grabs at the creature’s neck, fingers sinking into its coarse fur, yanking at it as hard as he can. 

It doesn’t budge, pressing harder against him, jaws opening wide as its teeth glint in the moonlight above him and--

Something tackles the Beast, pulling it off of Sylvain with impressive ease. Sylvain’s frantic, heart beating wildly as he scrambles to his feet, trying to regain his bearings. When he finally looks up, the creature is gone and off into the night, leaving behind the man who’d come to his rescue. 

_ “Useless _ ,” the man snaps, flicking out his wrist. Sylvain watches blood fling to the ground in thick droplets.  _ “Imbecile.”  _ The man’s not exactly dressed for the cold weather, Sylvain notes. His cloak, though lined with what looks like fur, is thin, and it swamps the man’s narrow frame. He’s shorter and angry looking, his lips pulled into a terse scowl. 

It takes a pointed glance for Sylvain to realize he’s waiting on him. “Uh-- I’m sorry?”

“I  _ asked _ if you have a death wish? I have a mind to  _ leave _ you out here, because you have no apparent awareness for your safety. I’ve not traveled the  _ entirety _ of this continent just to have you  _ die _ before I even get here.”

Sylvain blinks. “Me?”

“You  _ are _ the Gautier boy, correct? I’m praying to the Goddess that you aren’t, because what kind of  _ idiot _ doesn’t even wait for the rest of his team--”

“Team?” And then something clicks into place. “ _ Oh _ , you’re my new partner.”

The other man falls silent, glaring harshly at him. “We are not  _ partners _ ,” he replies testily. “I’m here out of a debt, not because I wish to be.”

“That makes two of us,” Sylvain says, smiling widely. Wouldn’t hurt to throw on the charm. He brushes the snow off of his pants. “Thanks for helping me-- I’m not sure I would have…”

Sylvain’s words die in his throat when he moves close enough to see the other man’s face. Dark hair, the color of the night, swept up into a haphazard bun that half hangs in his face. Pale skin and deep circles cut underneath his eyes and-- 

He hadn’t really given a lot of thought as to how the man had so easily subdued the Beast. Sylvain’s gaze drops to the man’s lips, stained red with blood and--

The man practically snarls at him, realizing what Sylvain is staring at. He wipes at his face like it’ll make a difference, but it’s too late, he’s already  _ seen _ . Sylvain’s made a mistake, this entire thing has been a massive  _ mistake _ . Or the FBI is playing one hell of a cruel joke on him. 

Because the man before him is a vampire, and Sylvain doesn’t quite know how to handle that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have questions? A burning need for answers? Have a story idea? Just want to talk Sylvix? Don't forget to check out my [Tumblr](https://missmarquin.tumblr.com/), and drop an ask!
> 
> Also, follow me on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/GimmetheKfc)


	3. Duo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: What are vampire myths again?  
> Also Me: Yeah, let's nix *all* of those, except for one. Also, now this is a comedy.

_ Duo _

  
  


“You’re avoiding me.”

Sylvain winces, but doesn’t look up from his task. He’s sitting outside in Ingrid’s garden, pulling apart his gun to clean. “I’m  _ not _ ,” he insists and it’s half true at least. It’s not that he’s going out of his way to circumvent the man, it’s more that he busies himself with other tasks-- and those tasks conveniently don’t involve the vampire. 

_ Please just leave, please just leave-- _

The vampire sits in the chair opposite him, much to Sylvain’s aggravation. Okay, so maybe he  _ was _ avoiding him  _ technically _ , but this time he  _ really does _ just want to clean his weapon in peace. 

“Doesn’t the sunlight bother you?” Sylvain asks, pulling at the clip and making sure his gun is empty of bullets. He’s heard of vampires that could bear the daylight, but he’s never run across one. 

“It’s mildly annoying,” the other man says, sounding utterly bored. 

Sylvain looks up and narrows his eyes at him. “That’s it?  _ Annoying _ ?” 

“Have you seen how pale I am?” He holds out a palm arm, sighing, and it takes Sylvain a moment to realize that the man’s making a joke. He might not be good at humor, but the vampire is  _ trying _ , even if its only with the barest effort.

“Look,” Sylvain finally says turning back to his work and releasing the magazine of his pistol, “It’s not  _ you _ , it’s just--”

“I know  _ all about _ what you do, Gautier,” the vampire cuts in. “And even if I wasn’t briefed beforehand, I’d be able to smell a Hunter a mile away.” There’s a moment of pause, and then he continues with, “I know that you probably hate me, but the  _ least _ you can do is look me in the eye.” 

Sylvain immediately looks up at that. “I don’t  _ hate-- _ ” He lets out a frustrated grunt. “It’s not about hate,” he repeats, a little bit calmer this time. “I’m from the border near Sreng and it’s different up here. It’s always been about protection, because if you don’t fight back, people  _ die _ . It’s not like the rest of the Empire, where the undead live happy and  _ normal _ lives. ”

Sylvain expects the vampire to get angry and snap back, but he doesn’t. “Trust me when I say that I know  _ exactly _ how vampires can be,” the man finally sighs. “There’s a reason that I go it alone.”

Sylvain blinks at that. “Alone?” He’s never heard of a vampire that wasn’t part of a coven.

“Yes,  _ alone _ .” He sounds mildly annoyed that he has to repeat himself. 

Sylvain considers this information for a moment, before moving back to his gun. The other man watches silently as he cocks the slide, pulling it back until he pops off the receiver. “I’m sorry,” Sylvain finally says and he means it sincerely. “I’ve never been good with things that stray from the ordinary, but it’s not as though I think  _ all _ of your lot are bad. I mean, you saved my life.”

The vampire  _ tchs _ at that. “Don’t think too much into it, boy.”

“I  _ won’t _ .” Sylvain smiles wryly at the man’s testy tone.  _ Prickly _ , Caspar had said. Well, he wasn’t wrong. “That being said... thank you. I’d be dead if you hadn’t stepped in.” 

They’re both silent as Sylvain pulls apart the spring, taking a cloth to wipe out the chamber. 

“We’ve wasted three days, Gautier--”

“Sylvain.”

There's hesitation and then, “ _ Gautier. _ We’ve wasted three days because of your frivolous…  _ concern _ regarding what I am.” He pauses once more, causing Sylvain to look at him. His face pinches, eyes narrowed as he picks his next words carefully. “I will assure you though-- I am not like others of my kind.”

Sylvain’s lips quirk into a small little smile. “You know… for some reason, I don’t doubt that.” Then he shoots him a wink for good measure.

The vampire immediately scowls, unamused by his antics. He stands abruptly from the seat, but pauses before he leaves. “Felix Hugo.”

Sylvain looks up. “I’m sorry?”

“My name. I won’t repeat it.” 

* * *

Sylvain is surprised to find that they get along pretty well.

While Felix doesn’t seek him out, he doesn’t avoid him either. Ingrid kindly requests his presence at dinner and the vampire complies, sitting at the table with a plate of food before him. Sylvain knows that vampires  _ can _ eat food if they so wish, but in his experience, human blood draws a preference… which brings up another oddity about the man. 

Sylvain hasn’t heard of any staff that’s volunteered blood, nor has he seen Felix coax someone with a request of his own to feed. In fact, Felix tends to actively avoid every human he comes across-- with the exception of himself and Ingrid. 

Felix is a strange man, even by vampiric standards, and it’s enough to distract him from his job. 

Sylvain is knelt in front of a set of tracks, mind wandering off when Felix smacks him across the back of the head. Not particularly hard, just enough to startle him and complain with a quiet grunt. 

“What was  _ that  _ for?”

“You’ve stopped listening again,” Felix replies. “Are you so baffled by an elk track that you can’t move from it?”

Sylvain stands, wiping the snow from his knees.  _ “No,” _ he says, immediately defensive, “I just have other things on my mind.”

Felix scowls. “I’d forget about those other things. I won’t always be around to save your sorry hide.” 

Sylvain knows that he’s right, but doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he points eastward. “The prints aren’t baffling, but I was thinking that perhaps it would do the Countess good for us to bring in some decent protein for dinner? She’s been a generous host.”

Felix’s mouth twitches into a frown. “Was I incorrect in assuming the two of you were close enough for you to just… complain about the food?” 

Sylvain blinks, cocking his head to the side. “I would  _ never _ ,” he said with mock offense, pressing a hand to his chest in offense. “Besides, have you seen the woman angry? When it comes to Ingrid, it’s easier to avoid…  _ critiquing _ her.” 

“ _ Ingrid _ ,” Felix repeats, considering him, and Sylvain kicks himself for lapsing into familiarity. “So you two  _ are _ close?”

For some reason, the question makes him pause sadly. There’s a lot of things regarding Ingrid that he’s regretted as of late. “Not as much as we once were, but she still keeps me on my toes.”

Felix hums quietly at that, before turning the direction of the tracks. “I need to eat as well, so we might as well bag the damn thing.” Sylvain feels like he’s missing something in Felix’s statement, but doesn’t dwell on it. Felix regards him for a moment and then says, “I’ll go ahead and hunt the beast. We’ll head back to the manor as soon as you catch up. You’ve... spent enough time out here.” 

He’s surprised by Felix’s concern, but the vampire is gone before he can properly voice it. 

* * *

Sylvain wasn’t sure what he thought he’d find when he caught up with Felix, but  _ this _ certainly wasn’t it. He blinks as he steps closer, watching Felix as he’s hunched over the elk, face buried into the neck of the warm carcass.

He’s seen vampires feed before and it’s a frenzied, wild sort of thing. But Felix is calm and collected, methodically drinking from the animal with practiced ease. Sylvain steps closer, a twig snapping underneath him, and Felix immediately pulls away, already wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his blue tunic. 

“I didn’t mean--”

“Nonsense,” Felix cuts in. His sleeve is stained pink and he licks the remainder from around his lips. “I could smell your stench far before you were even within sight.”

Sylvain’s immediate knee jerk reaction is to be annoyed by the jab. Instead, he says, “That’s an elk.” The words sound dumb the moment they leave his mouth.

Felix rights himself, tugging at his tunic to straighten it before looking  _ annoyed _ . “I knew that you were stupid, but I wasn’t aware as to how  _ appalingly _ so.” 

“No, that’s not what--” He falls silent, watching Felix rearrange the carcass for easier transport. “I only meant… I wasn’t expecting you too--”

“I don’t feed off of humans,” he tells him, pulling the elk’s hooves together. “Help me with this. I’ll carry it back.” Sylvain finally goes over to him, grabbing the other end when Felix motions for him to lift. They settle the animal across Felix’s shoulders and he shifts it around until he’s pleased. 

Sylvain pats the elk’s rump and says, “So… animal blood then? Is that good enough to…?” His question trails away though, not sure how to put his question into words.

Felix grunts slightly at the insinuation. “It… has its disadvantages.” 

“Then why even bother?” It’s probably rude to ask, but Sylvain just can’t help himself. 

“Humans aggravate the ever living  _ fuck _ out of me.”

Sylvain blinks and then laughs. Felix sneers, annoyed, but Sylvain just keeps chuckling. His honesty is refreshing, to say the least. “I hate to break it to you Felix, but you’re decidedly  _ unliving _ .” 

It’s a tart reply and he decides to turn away, beginning his walk back to the manor before Felix has the chance to throw the carcass at him. 

He misses the small smile that ghosts across the vampire’s lips. 

* * *

“So you’ve dealt with this beast before, you’re saying? And that it is, in fact,  _ the _ Legendary Boar.” 

Sylvain hasn’t known Felix for much longer than the month they’ve worked together, but he’s learned that every scowl is a different one. Currently, he wears  _ annoyance. _ Ingrid doesn’t mean ill by the question-- she’s honestly curious-- but Felix doesn’t like people prying into his personal matters and she’s no exception. 

Honestly, Sylvain is surprised that she’s held off for so long before finally giving into her curiosity. He asked  _ weeks _ ago.

Felix pokes at his food, as Ingrid waits expectantly. Finally he gives in. “I’ve seen the likes of it before. It was a long time ago.”

Ingrid nods. “Centuries, according to written record.”

“Wait,” Sylvain cuts in, “So what you’re saying is that you’re not just grouchy, you’re  _ old _ and grouchy.” 

“I’m not grouchy--”

“Just old then--”

“-- I swear to the  _ Goddess _ .”

“Who’s this  _ Goddess _ you’re always harping about?” 

Sylvain’s question causes Felix to regard him wearily. “A relic of the past, apparently. Look, the  _ when _ isn’t really important. I owe the Empire a debt and they’ve finally called it in. That’s all there is to it.”

Sylvain can tell that there’s definitely  _ more to it _ , but it’s not smart to push the buttons of the undead. Especially one as testy as this. He watches as Felix angrily cuts into his steak, moving to take a bite and--

_ “Wait _ .”

Felix pauses and Sylvain momentarily panics. He  _ wants _ to ask Felix more about himself, but it’d be awkward with Ingrid there, and the man  _ hates _ engaging in what he calls  _ frivolous talk _ . So instead, Sylvain blurts the first thing that comes to mind which is, “That has garlic in it.”

Felix’s scowl lifts for the _first time_ _ever_ as he looks at him in genuine confusion. “I happen to like garlic,” he eventually says, shoving the bite into his mouth. 

Sylvain sighs in embarrassment, having made an utter fool of himself at the table. “Tell us more about the beast,” he finally manages, trying to shift the conversation in a direction that makes him seem  _ slightly _ less of a fool. 

Felix swallows, cutting at his steak once more. “The Boar ravaged the remains of Faerghus for decades. It wasn’t my job to chase it, but we crossed paths once or twice.”

“And then it just disappeared?” It’s Ingrid who asks this and Felix turns to her. 

“So it seems.”

“And what is it that  _ you _ think?” Sylvain asks.

Felix levels him with a pointed look. “Does my opinion matter?”

“You were assigned to track him down with me. Why wouldn’t it?”

Felix chuckles, but it’s not a pretty thing. “Apologies. I’m not used to people  _ listening _ to me.” He moves to take a sip of his wine. “I think he went into hibernation.”

Sylvain stares back.  _ “He _ ?”

“It,” Felix amends, but Sylvain won’t forget the odd wording. “It’s not unheard of,” the vampire continues. “As to why it’s woken up now… I haven’t the slightest.” Felix sighs. “I  _ hate _ to agree with the Empire on anything, but I  _ do _ think that there is cause for concern. The Beast… is a difficult problem to handle.”

“So what’s the plan?” Sylvain finally asks. 

Felix considers the question for a long moment, and then says, “I don’t have one.” A pause. “It would do us no good to keep tracking it without knowing it’s motive. We should proceed with caution.” He rubs at his forehead. “Loathe as I am to admit… there is an old friend that I could contact. She might have some insight.”

Sylvain hears the way that he says  _ old _ . “I’ve already got my hands full with one vampire, Felix,” he grouses. 

Felix’s lips curl in the start of a snarl… but impressively, he catches himself. “I promise you, Gautier--”

_ “Sylvain!” _

“-- if I thought it weren’t  _ prudent _ , I’d never speak to her again.” 

Sylvain blinks. Well,  _ that’s _ no surprise whatsoever.

* * *

Sylvain expects for Felix to take him south, but the vampire leads them north instead, deep into the Wyldes. And while it isn’t the first time that Sylvain has traversed into the thick of it…  _ Well _ \--

“Forgive me if I’m wrong, but isn’t this Fraldarius Territory?” Sylvain finally asks after several hours of traveling on foot. When he asked about horses earlier that day, Felix had muttered something about how animals tend to react negatively towards vampires. Sylvain doesn’t know what bothers him more-- the fact that he didn’t think about it, or the fact he’s almost stopped considering Felix as a vampire.

It’s been a weird month, Sylvain finally settles with. Not bad, but  _ weird _ , and this is the longest Sylvain and Felix have spent in each other’s company at one time.

They’ve stopped for the night, lighting a small fire to keep warm. Felix gives him a side along glance, before peeling off his gloves and pressing his hands closer to the fire. “It is.”

“Then don’t you know about--”

“Do you honestly believe in  _ curses? _ ” Felix snaps. 

Sylvain blinks and then sighs, crossing his arms across his chest. It’s the first time he’s seen Felix visibly perturbed, and he doesn’t like it-- he doesn’t  _ like _ when the vampire looks put off. What can possibly rattle an immortal creature of the night? 

“I’ve believed in weirder,” Sylvain replies, shooting Felix a pointed stare. “Besides, even if the curse isn’t real, this place is… I don’t know--  _ sad _ .” Felix is quiet for a long moment, as he stares into the fire. 

“You speak of things that you know nothing about,” Felix finally says. 

“I might not  _ know _ the family, but I  _ was _ a Gautier. Considering the long history between our families, I feel like I owe them something.” Even if that history between them was  _ centuries _ ago.

“ _ Was _ ,” Felix repeats. “What do you mean by that?”

It’s the first time that Felix has asked him a personal question and Sylvain burns red at the thought. It’s his turn to stare into the fire. “Let’s just say that I’m not exactly what my parents want.”

Felix watches him silently for a moment and then says, “Then they’re stupider than I would have thought.” He pauses, and then, “But I would suppose that I know something about stupid families.”

“In any case, I made the choice to be rid of them.” Sylvain leans back against the log at his backside. “Can’t say that it was the wrong one.”

Felix watches the fire, the red-orange glow casting shadows along his pale face. “You say that now, but there might be a time when you will miss them.”

Sylvain snorts in disbelief, before asking, “Do you even remember your family?” Maybe it’s a rude question, but Sylvain is in a rude mood.

“Not the things that I want to,” Felix says quietly, and Sylvain is surprised by how  _ tired _ he sounds. “Not the important things. I could recite an entire monologue my brother once said to me, but I don’t remember his face.”

Sylvain’s never made a habit of getting to know the vampires he’s dealt with in the past, and he’s  _ never _ considered that they might have once had families. It’s a hard pill to swallow, the idea that they were once human too. 

But then again, Felix is a very strange creature, even by undead standards. 

Sylvain kicks at his leg from across the fire, and the glare that Felix shoots back might have been terrifying if Sylvain thought for a second that he meant it. He knew that Felix didn’t. “There’s no use dwelling on it,” Sylvain tells him. “Remember the good times you can, otherwise you’ll lose those too.”

The look that Felix shoots back is guarded, but not unappreciative, and for the first time, Sylvain realizes that the man is kind of beautiful when his face isn’t cut harshly by over-exaggerated scowls.

Felix sets about making a pitcher of tea over the fire. “Thank you, Sylvain,” he says, handing him a mug when it’s finally brewed. It’s  _ pine needles _ , of all things, and it tastes terrible. But it’s warm, and Felix’s hand was kinda warm as well from the mug, and he’s finally  _ called him by his name _ . 

First time for everything, Sylvain thinks, his lips quirking into a tiny little grin. 

He likes the way that Felix says it. Careful and poignant, but sincere. He can’t remember the last time that his name had been uttered in such a way. 

* * *

“Are you sure this is the right place?” It’s not that Felix seems untrustworthy, but he’s already admitted to being the kind of person that actively avoids any and everyone. Felix had led them into the heart of the frozen territory, before declaring that they’d reached their destination. “I mean, it’s not that I don’t believe you but--”

“But  _ what _ ?” Felix hisses. 

Sylvain shuffles awkwardly on his feet, before throwing his gaze past them. The Fraldarius estate looms above them, dark and abandoned, but the market town at its base is lively. Felix follows his gaze,  _ tching _ lightly at the sight. 

“Pay that place no mind--”

“But the  _ curse _ .” And  _ no _ , Sylvain doesn’t really believe in it, but he’s learned over he years that it’s better to be cautious than stupid. 

“Do these people look cursed?” Felix asks him. They stand in the middle of the square, people bustling around them even as the sun goes down, inviting the night. 

“Well no--”

“Then stop with your bumbling  _ idiocy _ ,” Felix berates before motioning towards the north side of the village. Sylvain swallows as he realizes that it’s closer to the manor than he would have preferred. 

And really, he  _ knows _ that it’s stupid and it’s not that he’s  _ afraid but _ \-- well, he’s relieved that he’s not alone and that Felix is-- Sylvain nearly trips over his own steps. He was about to be thankful that he was with a  _ vampire _ of all things.

Upon further evaluation, it’s not an unwelcome thought. 

Felix pauses ten paces ahead of him, letting loose an impatient,  _ “Gautier _ .” It’s back to business and he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t miss the tender utterance of his name from the night before. Well, tender as far as Felix is concerned. 

“Coming,” Sylvain manages. “No really I’m-- Yeah, I’m coming.”

It’s easy, he realizes, this routine with Felix and how easy it is to trust him. He’s become rather fond of his prickly nature and the way the Felix pretends to not be at least  _ a little _ bit amused by him. 

Felix waits for him patiently. There’s a scowl on his face, but it’s not  _ annoyance _ that he wears this time. It’s something else that Sylvain hasn’t quite figured out. 

He’s surprised by how much he wants to.

* * *

Sylvain’s learned over the last month that a few myths about vampires are clearly exaggerated. Felix can bear the sunlight to most degrees and eats an alarming amount of garlic. There’s one though, that he knows is true at least and it’s requirement of an invitation to one’s homestead.

The home that sits before him is tidy and clean looking. The porch is well swept, there are potted plants littering the walkway, and the chimney puffs smoke at regular intervals. It’s not what he immediately thinks of when it comes to the dwelling of a vampire, but then again… Felix is weird, and anyone he would consider an acquaintance probably is as well. 

Felix moves up the steps with familiar ease, hand immediately going to the handle of the door. 

“Aren’t you going to knock?” Sylvain blurts, confused. 

Felix looks to him, blinking in confusion. It’s a look that softens the lines on his face and Sylvain wants to see more of it, but he swallows the thought instead. “Aren’t you uh… Don’t you have to…” He gestures vaguely at the door. Felix’s eyes narrow as he waits. “Clearly my years of hunting have proven useless when it comes to some myths about your lot, but I know for a fact you have to be invited in.”

Felix rolls his eyes. “I’m welcome here,” he says curtly, moving to grasp the knob once more. 

“You made it seem like you didn’t want to see her. I assumed the feeling was mutual?”

“I have no desire to be here, but she’s always looking for an excuse to  _ visit _ . The moment I open this door, she’ll likely  _ hug _ me.” Felix shudders at the thought. 

“Does she have a death wish?” Sylvain jokes, but it falls flat when he catches sight of Felix’s face. There’s something somber there and he’s one second away from apologizing when Felix finally replies. 

“Look, it’s not that I dislike her,” he says quietly. The confession surprises Sylvain. “But I  _ do _ prefer to be alone. That being said, I could  _ never _ hurt Mercedes.”

Sylvain is about to say something when the door opens, pulling itself straight from Felix’s hand. The woman in question leans against the door frame, head cocked to the side as a wide smile spreads across her face. She’s beautiful, Sylvain thinks, with a full figure and soft-looking hair. 

“Felix,” she says warmly, stepping forward to pull him into a hug. Felix hesitates, but eventually relents, carefully wrapping his arms around her form. 

“Mercie,” he answers quietly, resting his chin on her shoulder and closing his eyes at the contact, strangely serene when compared to his usual disposition. Sylvain blinks as he stares dumbly, about a hundred percent sure that he’s imagining this, because the scowl that currently graces his face looks something like  _ content _ \- something he’s never,  _ ever _ associated with the man.

Finally the woman pulls back, rubbing her thumbs along Felix’s arms as she gets a good look at him. Pure and utter affection, Sylvain realizes, and his heart lurches just the tiny bit at the idea. But before he can dwell on it more, she shifts her gaze to him. 

“And you must be Sylvain,” she says with a warm smile, and before he can reply, she’s pulling him into a tight hug as well. 

He’s about to ask how he knows that when he catches sight of Felix, and his heart instantly lurches. Felix is smiling and it’s not that tiny little quirk of his mouth that he sometimes gets in amusement, it’s actual  _ endearment _ , and  _ fuck _ Sylvain is instantly enamored. 

Oh.  _ Oh. Well-- shit. _

Mercedes pulls away, thumbing at Sylvain’s shirt gently. “Come,” she says quietly. “Let’s get you inside and warmed up. You must be frozen through.” 

“Oh I’m fine,” Sylvain finally manages. “I grew up--”

“I know,” she interrupts kindly, and Sylvain snaps his mouth shut. She leaves the door frame and Felix follows her inside. Sylvain is caught at the doorstep, hesitant, but not because he’s scared. No, it’s because he’s distracted and he hasn’t felt this way since Lady Anne of House Rowe had turned her attention towards him and--

“Sylvain,” Felix says, his voice warmer than it’s ever sounded before. He’s got that impatient expression on his face, but his scowl is relaxed and for once he looks like he’s not about to lop Sylvain’s hand of for merely talking to him. 

“Yeah,” Sylvain manages, and Felix cocks his head to the side, bangs falling across his face attractively. Sylvain swallows thickly. 

Yeah, he’s  _ fucked _ . 

* * *

If Sylvain didn’t know any better, he would think that Mercedes was a regular woman. She’s warm and kind, exerting a kind energy that instantly relaxes you. Her home smells like fresh baked bread and she apparently knows how to brew a killer cup of tea-- according to Felix. 

But when she smiles, he can pick out the distinct points of her canines, and suddenly she doesn’t look so innocent anymore. Is she like Felix? Does she feed off of animals and keep to herself? Or does she have a coven and a dedicated blood source. 

Mercedes hums lightly as she flits about the room, telling them that she’ll be right back with some fresh picks of her garden. The moment she’s out of sight, he turns to Felix, chair legs scraping across the worn wooden floor. 

“Gautier--” Felix starts, back to the slightly informal tone that Sylvain hates.

“You have a  _ woman _ ?” Sylvain asks instead, cutting him off.

Felix, to his credit, immediately looks  _ appalled _ at the idea. “ _ Mercedes?” _ And then he makes an exaggerated gagging sound at the mere thought of it and Sylvain is suddenly aware that he’s entirely misunderstood this situation. 

“Wait, she’s not--”

“If I hated you, I would actually  _ kill _ you for such an insinuation,” Felix finally says. 

Sylvain blinks at that. “Wait, so you  _ don’t _ hate me?”

Felix skirts the question though, folding his hands delicately at the table. He looks odd, dressed down. Sylvain’s never seen him let his guard wander long enough to actually remove his sword belt, but there it rests against the wall behind him. It speaks volumes to the character of the woman in question.

“Mercedes is a close friend,” Felix finally admits, pulling at his fingers distractedly. It’s something he does when he’s talking about himself, and Sylvain finds the nervous tic rather human-like. “But don’t you  _ dare _ tell her that I said such a thing.”

“I think she already knows that,” Sylvain replies. 

“Of course she does,” Felix mutters, “but I don’t need her gloating about it.”

“Is she… uh… like you? As far as vampires go, I mean.” There wasn’t really a delicate way to ask the question. 

Felix’s mouth quirks into a small grin. “Yeah, she is.” He pauses. “I think you’ve learned by now that not all of us are like what you hunt, Sylvain.”

“Yeah, you’re pretty decent,” Sylvain admits. 

“Mercedes is more than decent. Mercie is  _ good _ . The best, really.” Instinctually, Sylvain already knows that, he’s known it from the moment she hugged him close and swept a soft hand down his back. “If something ever happened to her, I don’t know how I would handle it.”

The words flow through Sylvain like ice cold water. “Felix, I would never--”

“That isn’t what I meant,” Felix says with a wince. He must have realized his tone belatedly. “I was just trying to articulate what she means to me.”

Sylvain rubs a finger along a knot in the kitchen table. “Thank you, Felix,” he says. “I know that you don’t like to talk about yourself but… I appreciate you trusting me with this.”

Felix regards Sylvain for a long moment. Eventually he moves to say something, but Mercedes sweeps into the room before he gets the chance. “You’re in luck Sylvain. I’ve struggled with some of my garden this year, but I've managed to make wonderful blend of Bergamot tea.” 

Felix makes a face behind her back, but she tuts knowingly, turning around the moment the kettle is thrown over the fire and shaking a spoon at him. “None of that Felix. Not everyone can stand the rather harsh brew you prefer.”

Sylvain can, but he doesn’t think much past that because-- “Bergamot is my favorite,” he blurts. 

Mercedes finishes measuring out the mix into the cups, before turning around and blessing him with a gentle smile. “Yes, I know. But that isn’t why you’re here.” Sylvain has a thousand and one questions not limited to  _ how the hell did she know _ , but he doesn’t get the chance to ask as she turns to Felix, giving him a pointed look. 

“Can’t I come for a decent cup of tea?” he asks.

Mercedes smile turns tense, pulling tightly at the corners as her eyes narrow. She’s not annoyed, but it’s the first hint of something other than  _ safe _ and  _ kind _ that Sylvain’s seen from her. “You? Felix, the only time you come for a visit is when you’re out of answers.” She sighs dramatically, turning back around when the kettle starts to wail. She removes it from the fire, pouring out the water into the cups. 

“But really, what can I help with?” She asks, setting down two cups of blistering hot tea between them. Sylvain wraps his hands around the cup to warm them, and Felix ignores his, predictably. 

When Felix mentions The Boar, Mercedes’ expression pinches slightly-- so similar to the way Felix had regarded the subject when discussing it with Ingrid. Sylvain hadn’t quite forgotten the familiar tone Felix had discussed the Boar with and Mercedes’s response only solidified his original thought-- that Felix hadn’t just  _ crossed paths _ with the beast before. 

It was clearly more complicated than that and Sylvain would bet a year’s wages on it. 

The explanation itself doesn’t take long though, and Mercedes seems amused by Felix being assigned to Sylvain as a partner. She takes a sip of her tea, processing everything and then says, “If the beast is truly a cursed creature, then perhaps it’s responding powerful magic nearby?”

“How do we know it’s cursed?” Sylvain asks. 

She leans back in her chair, crossing a leg delicately and readjusting her skirts. “There are plenty of cursed beasts out there, Sylvain,” she tells him, “myself and Felix included. Why would the Boar be any different?” She waves her hand at the thought. “They tend to be a problem of the past, of course. With the Empire’s tight grip on frivolous magic, I doubt that any modern mage would be able to achieve such a thing.”

Sylvain’s never really considered that, but she’s right. It isn’t that there aren’t mages around, but they are few and far between up here in the Wyldes. Most are forced down south to do the Empire’s bidding, whether they want to or not. 

“ _ If  _ the beast went into hibernation,” Felix cuts in, “then why wake up now?”

Mercedes hums in thought. “If the mage responsible for the curse were nearby, it wouldn’t be a stretch that the Boar would react as such.”

Silence fell over the table, and Sylvain is the one to break it. “But wouldn’t that make the mage  _ centuries _ old?” 

“Are you implying that a mage cannot be?” She asks, eyebrows rising slightly as she takes another sip of her brew. “There are stranger things out there Sylvain. Being a Hunter, I would assume you’ve seen them.” But then she shrugs. “But it’s only a guess.”

_ Only a guess, my ass _ , Sylvain thinks. He’s long since come to the conclusion that Mercedes knows more than she lets on, and he can see it in the tiny little smile that she hides behind her teacup. 

“What will you do?” she asks innocently. 

“What we’ve been hired to do,” Felix answers tiredly. “We’ll keep tracking it, and when we find it-” 

“Will you kill him?”

_ Him _ . Sylvain blinks, because it’s not the first time the Boar has been called that. He has the distinct feeling that they’re hiding something from him and he doesn’t like it. 

But Felix doesn’t seem to notice her calculated word choice. “That’s the plan,” he says. 

Mercedes hums again, turning her mug absently between her fingers. “Well, you’re welcome to stay the night. I have plenty of room.” 

Her home is small and cozy, but Sylvain doesn’t care if he has to sleep on the kitchen floor by the hearth-- anything is better than the frigid cold outside. Felix stands from the table, thanking her. “We’ll accept the offer,” he says quietly, reaching out to grasp her shoulder lightly. She smiles in return. Then Felix looks to Sylvain. 

“We’re safe here,” he tells him. It wasn’t that Sylvain thought otherwise but… well, he believes Felix with everything that he has. 

“It’ll be nice to relax for once.” Felix smiles back at him, and it’s like before when they stood on the porch and--  _ Sylvain really needs to stop staring _ . He forces himself to look away. 

And really, he does feel safe here, in the sanctity of Mercedes’s little cottage. He feels safer than he has in years, in the company of a pair of very odd vampires. The irony isn’t lost on a lonely little Hunter such as himself. 

* * *

“Felix has gone out to hunt,” Mercedes tells him, stepping out onto the porch. Sylvain is wrapped tightly in a thick fleece blanket, leaning against the wooden banister that holds up the awning. He watches Mercedes sit down on the steps, tucking herself next to the pole opposite him before patting the spot next to her. “Here’s your opportunity to ask about him.”

Sylvain turns to look at her with a wink. “Now Merce, why would I want to do that?” 

She gives him a knowing glance, lips tugged into an amused expression. “Why  _ wouldn’t _ you? Felix is a very interesting person.”

Well, he can’t exactly refute that. Sylvain pulls away from the banister, settling onto the step next to her. “Aren’t you cold?” he asks, his breath puffing in front of him. It’s bitter cold outside and he can barely feel his fingertips.

“I’m fine,” she assures him, despite wearing only a thin long-sleeved blouse and a shawl around her shoulders. “But I can find you a second blanket, if you’d like.”

“Nah, this one’s fine,” he tells her, rubbing his cheek against the soft wool of the fleece. “I’m used to the cold… though apparently you knew that.”

“I know a lot of things,” she replies, as if it explains everything. It doesn’t. 

The night is quiet and the stars twinkle bright. There’s a comfortable silence between the two of them. Mercedes isn’t like Felix, she’s patient and Sylvain likes that. She doesn’t expect him to spit it out what’s on his mind, so she can be left alone. 

“I’ve known a lot of vampires in my life,” Sylvain starts with. “But Felix is definitely the strangest.” He pauses. “Well, you’re odd as well, I guess.”

Mercedes laughs at that. “I’m about as old as dirt,” she tells him. “Sometimes the older you are, the weirder you are.”

“He told me he was from Fraldarius.”

Mercedes seems surprised by that. “Did he now?”

“Is that unusual? For him to say such a thing?”

“I would think you’ve realized by now that he’s a private person,” she replies. 

“He doesn’t trust easily, does he?” Sylvain already knows the answer, but Mercedes confirms it with her silence. Then she says something that he doesn’t expect. 

“Felix is very particular about who he opens up to, but it’s clear that he trusts you.”

Sylvain laughs at that. “Me? All he does is scowl and yell at me.”

Mercedes hums at that, amused. “In all the years I’ve known Felix, he’s never once brought someone to meet me. He’s annoyed by me and I embarrass him a fair amount, but he cares about me far more than he’d ever admit to. I’m a carefully kept secret.”

“It must be nice, having another vampire to get alone with. You must have known each other for a long time.”

“Something like that,” she tells him, and there’s a mischievous edge to her tone that he wants to know more about. Sylvain is surprised when she reaches out to press her cold fingers to his arm. “Look, Sylvain, I would like to give you some advice.”

“You know, Felix tries to give me advice from time to time. I’ll warn you now that I don’t usually listen.”

“My advice is  _ about _ Felix though, so you might want to- and you know why.” Sylvain swallows at her words. Yeah, he knows why, and it kind of scares him. When he meets Mercedes’s gaze, her face is sweet, but her eyes are sharp and clever. He’s not sure that he likes what he sees there. 

Mercedes is as mysterious as Felix is, even if she’s friendly and forthcoming. 

“It’s not easy, falling in love,” she tells him. 

Sylvain sputters. “I’m not in love--”

“No, not yet, not  _ fully _ ,” she says. “But it’s okay. Everyone deserves it.”

Sylvian huffs at that. “Even someone as prickly as Felix?” His tone sounds more defeated than he likes and even if it’s not  _ love _ , it’s definitely  _ something _ .

Mercedes rubs her hand along his shoulder briefly and then says, “Even someone like  _ you _ .” She stands from her spot on the porch, stretching out her stiff muscles. She half turns, but then pauses, pressing her fingers into his hair, rubbing at his scalp affectionately. “Don’t forget that you’re worth something as well, Sylvain.”

Sylvain’s known Mercedes for barely a night, but he already loves her. She’s kind of like the big sister he’s never had, and he doesn’t really want to leave the warmth of her kind words. Her fingers are gone far too soon, and he listens to her footsteps as they fade back into the house. 

_ You’re worth something as well _ . 

They are nice, pretty words. He wishes that he could believe them.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Have questions? A burning need for answers? Have a story idea? Just want to talk Sylvix? Don't forget to check out my [Tumblr](https://missmarquin.tumblr.com/), and drop an ask!
> 
> Also, follow me on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/GimmetheKfc)


End file.
